Secluded Spaces
by KeybladeBanditJing
Summary: Dumping ground for all my Soul Eater oneshots and drabbles too short to deserve their own story. Mostly Soul/Maka, but others may show up.
1. This is Who I Am

As mentioned in the summary, this story is going to be used pretty much as a dumping ground for all my little oneshots. Mostly because they're too short to deserve their own space.

Now that that's out of the way... *points at concept* Oh look! A dead horse! Where's my beatstick?

* * *

Fate was a bitch and it hated him.

The one room he had gone to to try to escape… had to have a piano in it.

Of course.

And he just _had_ to go to it and sit down at the bench, staring at the cover over the keys.

His hands lifted the cover before he even remembered giving them permission to do so.

God dammit.

He didn't raise his hands to play, electing instead to just sit there with his hands hanging at his sides, staring at the black and white teeth of the creature before him, staring back at him with a mocking grin.

Unbidden, a memory rose. Of the last time he'd played. A representative of the school whose halls he now used to hide had listened to him play, and for once had not asked him _why_ it had to be so dark, so twisted. They had simply told him not to stop playing that way. That he played himself. The music he produced was his very _soul_, and that while it usually repelled others (which was true, his parents couldn't stand his music), a meister with a similar wavelength would be drawn to it.

He had never thought of it that way, but it made sense. Well, the music being his soul did, he knew that already. But to have his music actually _draw someone in_ for once? He had a very hard time believing that.

So he's avoided that. He'd tried being social, he really had, but he simply hadn't found anyone who seemed to work with him, who seemed to understand him. So he'd given up and left.

And here he was.

He wondered at the representative's words. His hands raised to the keyboard, hesitated, lowered back into his lap. He sighed. Nothing to lose anyway, right? It wasn't like he could be heard. This room was far down the hallway from the auditorium where the party was being held.

His hands raised to the keys with more confidence this time. He took a deep breath, remembering the man's words.

_Play your soul._

He brought his hands down harshly on the keys, pounding out an angry, aggressive piece.

_Can you hear me?_

Minor keys, jumbled notes, all somehow still coming together in a piece that flowed together nicely, but only to him.

_Can you __**feel**__ me?_

Crescendos and decrescendos, no set rhythm but the one his soul gave him, notes seemingly at random but in reality all planned meticulously in his head.

_This is who I am._

He brought his hands down hard on the keys, ending the song with a dissonant clang of notes. He signed and moved to stand, then suddenly realized he wasn't alone.

There, standing at the door, not retreating but not intruding, was a girl. A scrawny, simple girl with jade green eyes that betrayed so much more beneath the surface, and a simple answer that betrayed so much more meaning.

"Yes."

_I heard you._

_I felt you._

_I accept and understand who you are._


	2. Lost Puppy

Holy crap I should not write at 3am. Tenses are all over the place and the run on sentences are everywhere. I am so sorry. It's 4am and I don't have the brain to edit this right now. Perhaps later. For now my brain wanted to puke this up and get it published so it can say it's done something productive. I say my brain needs to stop living in my basement and get a freaking job. Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

One thing about Soul that Maka had learned early on that she was positive no one else knew about, as he never showed any evidence of it even among their closest friends, was that despite all his fronts, he was a very cuddly person. She had pretty much known it from day one, as she'd gone grocery shopping the day they'd partnered up, and while he hadn't gone with her in favor of unpacking and getting settled into the spare room of her, now their, apartment, he had followed her around like a lost puppy when she'd gotten back, offering to help put things away, or get to things she couldn't reach, even though he was only an inch taller than she was.

It had been a little awkward for her at first, and she was grateful that he knew that. While he still stayed close to her, he wasn't smothering her too much. He definitely hovered, still does, but she's more or less used to it by now.

Once they'd been living together for a while, and she'd more or less gotten used to being followed around by a white haired puppy 24/7, she found herself giving him allowances that she'd never thought she would even consider. Whenever she was out in the front room reading a book on the couch, he would find an excuse to be there with her, leaning on her shoulder as he watched TV or occasionally flipping through his own book or magazine, eventually falling asleep on her and she'd have to shove him off to get up. If she was ever studying something she felt he needed to know as well (especially after he'd tried cheating on Stein's written test), he'd lean on the back of her chair and rest his chin on her shoulder as he read with her. Various little things that he did every day that she wouldn't even consider allowing any guy to even think about before she'd met him.

But then again, he had one thing going for him that no other guy did, or likely ever would. She trusted him. He trusted her, too, when she thought about it. Since he never showed any evidence of his usual behavior outside of their apartment, or even inside it if they had visitors, she felt privy to this huge secret of his, and she's not sure what to make of the giddy feeling she gets when she knows that she's the only one he's ever trusted with this side of himself.

After he black blood infects him, the nightmares make him cling to her even more, either refusing to let her go when she goes to him after he wakes up screaming, or simply crawling into her bed in the middle of the night when he can't get back to sleep for fear of what he'll see once he does. Eventually he gets a handle on it, but still occasionally crawls into bed with her in the middle of the night. Either because of nightmares, or if one of them was just feeling lonely (she's not sure how he knows when she does, but she's not complaining), or that one winter when the heater went out for a month, and they both ended up sharing his bed because his room was warmer.

In any case, as she lies awake on a couch reading under a small lamp while the rest of their slumber party has already died out (Black Star asleep in an awkward position under the coffee table), she doesn't register the mildly surprised look on Kid's face as he shuffles by her to the kitchen for something until she follows his gaze to Soul, who has once again fallen asleep on her, his head resting on her chest with an arm draped over her stomach and dangling to the floor, and one leg tucked between hers. He's snoring lightly and is probably going to start drooling soon, and she hopes she'll be able to change her shirt in the morning before anyone else notices.

"How," Kid starts, his voice scratchy from sleep, before clearing his throat and trying again. "How long has this been going on?" He's not accusing or teasing at all in his tone, just mildly interested and curious, and Maka shrugs slightly before answering.

"Honestly? Since day one. He just doesn't show it much."

Kid blinked. "Really?"

Maka nods, absently brushing some hair out of Soul's face before it tickles his nose and wakes him up. "He likes being close to me, I guess. It was a little odd for me at first, but I've more or less gotten used to it by now."

Kid made a small noise of acknowledgement and looked at Soul for a while before glancing back up at Maka. "I'm impressed, to be honest. It's very rare to see so much trust between weapon and meister partners this early on."

Maka blinked. "We've been partners for three years, Kid."

Kid nodded. "That's still considered early in the partnership. Some partners remain so for life, even if they aren't together constantly."

Maka nodded. She knew that. She also knew that some partnerships ended, and badly, from her own personal experience.

Kid seemed to notice her train of thought. "Personally I highly doubt that you and Soul will ever end up like your parents. If I may be frank, Soul is nothing like your imbecile of a father."

Maka laughed a little, careful not to wake Soul, before replying. "I know."

Kid glanced from her so Soul once more before getting up from the chair he'd sat in when they'd started talking. "I'm going back to bed. Try not to stay up all night."

Maka nodded once. "'Night, Kid."

"Good night," Kid yawned back before shuffling over to the air mattress he'd set up for himself in the center of the room and plopping down exactly in the middle of it. Maka shook her head slightly before marking her book and deciding to get some rest herself.

As she reached up and turned off the light, Soul shifted and buried his face in her neck and she tried not to laugh when she heard him grumble against her ear.

"How's a guy supposed to sleep when you two nerds won't shut up?"


	3. Death City Curse

This was originally part of a high school fic I tried to write, but eventually scrapped 'cause it was stupid and wasn't really going anywhere. I did like this scene, and it's all that's really survived.

* * *

She found him at the basketball court at lunch. He was just standing there, looking out over the empty soccer field, bag slung over his shoulder, hands stuffed in his pockets, as he stared off into space. She watched him for a moment, having never really gotten a good look at him, just hearing about him by all the main gossips in her classes and glancing at him in passing. He wore a black leather jacket over an orange T shirt, khaki pants, and simple black shoes. He didn't look like anything special, and yet everyone seemed to give him hell just because of the last city he lived in.

She never believed him to be anything like the school seemed to think he was, and as far as she knew, he never did anything to confirm the rumors, no matter how true or reliable some people claimed them to be. He just came from a place where some people were... different... and they automatically assumed he had something wrong with him. She had many times heard the phrase "Death City curse," and while she had a pretty good idea of what they were talking about, she had never heard it referred to in that way, like it was a bad thing, and it made her a little angry, both for her papa's sake and for the sake of the boy in front of her.

She was about to step forward and introduce herself when he suddenly turned to face her, bored crimson eyes staring at her levelly from under a shock of bright white hair, only barely held in place by a thin black headband that seemed to be shoved on as an afterthought more than anything else. He raised an eyebrow at her, whether out of curiosity or irritation she couldn't tell, and spoke in a low, gruff tone.

"Lemme guess," he sighed, sounding resigned. "Come to call me a freak too?"

Maka blinked. At least he was straightforward. "No." She answered simply.

If anything, he grew more skeptical. "What, then? The rumors? Yes, I'm from Death City. As for the rest of it, I don't know what the hell you people think of me, I stopped listening after a while," he growled. "It's all the same anyway. I've kind of stopped caring."

Maka shook her head, daring to take another couple steps forward. "No," she replied again. He didn't step back, but he did lean back slightly. She could tell he was uncomfortable, and stopped in the middle of the basketball court, roughly ten feet away from him.

His eyes narrowed. "What then?" He growled through clenched teeth. "What the hell do you want?"

He was being difficult on purpose. She fought down the urge to sigh in frustration and simply looked back at him, keeping her expression neutral. "I just wanted to say hello, introduce myself, let you know that I understand you."

He scowled. "I sincerely doubt that. I don't even know you, and I doubt you know me."

She looked back at him evenly. "I never said that I knew you, just that I understand you. I figured that since you were new in town, I'd welcome you to the city, maybe try to help you out if you'll let me."

At his surprised blink, she added, "No one else seems to feel like being very welcoming."

He rolled his eyes and sighed, looking off to the side. "Yeah, no shit."

Maka was about to introduce herself as promised, until she noticed that he was still looking off to the side, and that his posture was tensed and his eyes hardened. She followed his gaze to see a group of boys headed their way, specifically, for him. She didn't know any of their names, but judging by the letter jackets and their builds, she assumed them to be of the popular jock crowd. She noticed the boy glaring at her, as if he believed that she had set him up for this, until he saw that she was glaring at the jocks too.

"Hey, freak," the one who appeared to be the leader called as he approached the court. "What do you think you're doing? Get away from the poor girl." At Maka's offended snort, he turned to her and blinked before sneering at her. "Oh. It's just Albarn. Never mind, then. Guess you freaks have to stick together."

Maka noticed the boy twitch in irritation, but whether he was mad because the jock had insulted her or because he had insulted him she wasn't sure. At this point she didn't care, currently rooting around in her own bag for her calculus book, which then sailed through the air and connected with the jock's head before anyone could react. He dropped to his backside and rubbed at his forehead as his friends all crowded around him. She was vaguely aware of a pair of wide crimson eyes staring at her with something akin to awe, or possibly fear, but she was too angry, and focused too much on her target, to care.

As the jock stood up, and his friends moved aside, she felt a small, crazy part of her celebrating at the sheer size of the welt the book had left, a more sensible part of her worry that they would be destroying her textbook for it, and another, far larger, part of her realize what a mistake that had been as he leveled her with a heavy, venomous glare. Most boys made it a point not to hit girls, but it didn't look much like he cared about that unspoken rule at the moment. Not only had he been injured... by a girl no less, but she had also bruised his pride in front of all his friends and the school freak. Not that she was ever considered normal or even very well liked, but that wasn't the issue at hand.

"You're going to pay for that one, Albarn." He growled, slowly advancing on her. She backed up slowly, looking for a chance to run, her eyes focused on his face. She showed no fear, as her mother had taught her growing up. She could also tell that the fierce, defiant, yet cautious look she had on her face was unnerving the advancing jock, but not enough to stop him. He was probably just wary of her having any more books on her person. Her bag was forgotten off to the side.

Suddenly her back hit a wall, and she cursed mentally for not looking where she was going. She was trapped. The jock grinned and raised his fist, confirming her fears that yes, he was going to hit her... and then he mysteriously seemed to lose his balance. More specifically, his knees crumpled out from under him, and she dodged quickly to the side, letting him go face first into the wall. She stared at him for a while, moving back a few more steps as he slowly pulled himself up to his hands and knees and glared behind him. She followed the jock's gaze to see the white haired boy standing behind him, hands still in his pockets, one foot still raised slightly in the air from when he had delivered a sharp kick to the back of the jock's legs, buckling his knees out from under him. The jock lashed out with his own leg, but the smaller boy easily jumped back, avoiding the kick.

Maka watched in interest and slight amusement as the jock got up and aimed a few more punches and kicks at the boy, who nimbly dodged every blow, all the time never removing his hands from his pockets, his eyes focused, but bored. That only seemed to anger the older boy more, and his strikes got more erratic. The boy finally rolled his eyes, sighed, muttered something along the lines of "pathetic" and slid one hand out of his pocket to land a solid blow on the jock's chin with the heel of his hand.

The jock stopped flailing at the boy to grip his chin, eyes clamped shut in pain, and the boy winced slightly and shook out his hand before returning it to his pocket, shifting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and heading towards Maka. He didn't seem to notice one of the jock's friends finally deciding to make a move, advancing quickly and quietly on the boy's back. Maka was about to warn him when he suddenly heard the jock approach and whirled, right arm extended slightly as if to protect her, and left arm pointed at the taller boy.

The jock froze. Everyone froze. Maka, only able to see the white haired boy's back because of his close proximity to her, slowly peered over his shoulder. The look on the face of the jock in front of them could only be described as sheer, abject terror for his life. She looked around at the other jocks, and noticed similar expressions on all their faces. She also noticed that the younger boy was shaking. In fear, anger, or something else, she couldn't tell. She couldn't see his face. His left shoulder looked strange, and for a bad second she thought he was hurt, until her gaze traveled down his left arm, and her eyes widened in surprise.

His left arm was gone.

In its place was a long, curved blade, decorated with a jagged red and black pattern, pointed straight at the jock's throat.

The boy grinned savagely, revealing a mouthful of pointed teeth. "There," he murmured, so quietly Maka almost didn't hear him. His voice shook as much as his body. "There," he said again, louder so that everyone could hear him, his voice eerily calm. "Are you satisfied?" The jock he held at blade point only gulped and finally tore his eyes from the large blade at his throat to the livid eyes of the boy attached to it, the unnerving feral grin still firmly in place. Even Maka had to admit the boy's expression was somewhat disturbing.

"Are you _FUCKING_ SATISFIED?" He roared, swinging his blade-arm away from the older boy's throat. In a brief flash, the blade was once again replaced by his arm. He clenched it into a fist at his side, even as his right arm still hovered protectively in front of Maka. The jock collapsed in front of him and scrambled backwards in an awkward crab walk. Maka would have laughed if the situation wasn't so serious. The boy's secret was out, and he didn't seem too happy about it at all.

He watched the jock scramble away before turning his gaze to the first jock, who was still holding his jaw. He flinched back visibly when the boy's gaze fell on him and looked very much like he wanted to either dig a hole or wet his pants. Somewhere in the back of her mind Maka acknowledged that she'd pay to see either.

"Yes," he growled at the jock. "You're right. You were all right. No point in hiding it I guess when the WHOLE FUCKING _SCHOOL_ doesn't seem to want to believe otherwise. Where I come from it's nothing special, but I guess around here it makes me a fucking FREAK. But it's not a curse. If you really must refer to my... condition, as you all seem to like calling it, I'm a Weapon. That's all. I'm not a freak. It's not a curse. I was born this way. It's rare outside of Death City, I know, but that doesn't give you bastards ANY RIGHT to belittle me over something that's an inextricable part of me. At least not behind my back like you all seem to enjoy doing. If you have a problem with me, say it to my face."

The jock who had had a blade to his throat earlier suddenly spoke up. "You... You're dangerous. How the hell did you get into this school?"

"Dangerous? _Dangerous_?" He laughed then, a sound that, to Maka, was genuine and full of humor, but to the jocks seemed to be frightening. "Oh, God..." he cackled, doubled over in an effort to breathe. "You guys are rich. First you go after a girl, then you call me dangerous after coming here with the intent of beating ME to a bloody pulp, or stuffing me in a trash bin or whatever... ha ha..." He broke down again, Maka finding it hard to contain her own giggles. His laughter was contagious.

"At least..." he broke down into giggles again before trying again. "At least I can deal with things I don't understand without trying to destroy them." He suddenly stopped laughing and stood upright, glaring at the leader of the group of jocks. "That being said," he continued, voice serious. "Who's the dangerous one? Me? Or you? Something to think about."

With that, he bent down, picked up his bag, and strode over to where Maka's book lay near the other jocks who hadn't moved since they arrived. They all backed up from him quickly as he approached, but he only scowled at them and bent down to retrieve the textbook before turning back, grabbing Maka's bag on his way back to her.

The jocks quickly left the area as he approached Maka, probably to tell the whole school what had just transpired, but at the moment he was finding it hard to care. He held her book bag up to her, and she took it with a muttered thanks, suddenly feeling shy and finding her shoes very interesting.

"You said you understood me," he said suddenly, causing her to look back up at him, expecting him to be angry, but he just looked tired, drained. "Now that you know what I am," he sighed, and then looked her straight in the eyes, daring her to look away. "Can you still say that?"

Maka's gaze, and her resolve, never wavered in her answer. "Yes."

He blinked, and his eyebrows rose in slight interest before he spoke again. "Interesting. Mind if I ask why?"

She thought for a moment. "Because calling you a freak would be the same as calling my papa a freak." At his questioning glance, she went on. "My parents are from Death City. My papa's a Weapon too."

His eyes widened in surprise and she went on. "I said I understood you because I'm considered a freak here too, but for different reasons. Mostly because I just like to study and read more than most people. But to find out that you're a Weapon, too..." She smiled up at him. "That's just one more unique thing about you."

He blinked. She didn't consider him weird or creepy. Even people who didn't know about his bloodline would call him less than flattering things on his appearance alone. He suddenly wondered how this perfectly normal looking girl was as ostracized as he was. He realized with a little regret that she'd probably have an even harder time about it now, being associated with him, but... the fact that she knew about him, and didn't treat him any differently than before she saw the blade...

He wanted to trust her. He wanted to trust her so badly. And he didn't even know her name.

The bell rang suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts and signaling that lunch period was over. He sighed and dug his schedule out of his bag, scanning it for his next class. He noticed her looking curiously at his schedule, before frowning in disappointment.

"Aw, you're not in any of my classes." She pouted, and he couldn't stop the small chuckle that escaped him.

"Well you can help me out a little bit," he replied, and she glanced up at him. "You know where this classroom is? I've been looking for it all day."

She glanced at the room number he pointed to, and nodded. "Room 401? It's on the side of the gym. It's kinda hidden, probably why you never found it."

"Ah, cool." He nodded, folding the paper and stuffing it back in his bag. "I should probably head off in that direction then so I can find it. But first..." He hitched his bag up on his shoulder and held his hand out to her. "Soul Eater Evans."

She blinked at him and smiled before taking his hand in a firm grip. "Maka Albarn."

He blinked at her and seemed to regard her differently. "Albarn... That's a famous name in Death City. Any relation to Spirit and Kami Albarn?"

She blushed, slightly embarrassed at the way he looked at her. "Yeah... they're my parents."

Soul blinked again. "Oh, that's right... you said your father was a weapon. Man, I feel dumb now."

Maka shook her head and smiled at him, and suddenly thought of something. "Hey... can I ask you something?"

"Hm?" Soul looked up at her expectantly.

"Well... it's kinda personal, so you don't have to answer of you don't want to... but..." She fidgeted slightly, but Soul only cocked his head, waiting for her question.

"What kind of Weapon are you?"

Soul raised his eyebrows in surprise before he smirked at her. "Well I have a question for you. Your mother's a famous Meister, and your father a high ranking Weapon... Which are you?"

Now it was Maka's turn to blink. "Mama said I have Meister blood, and a strong soul... I haven't shown any signs of Weapon blood, and at this point it's likely I never will. But... aside from my papa a couple times, I've never really wielded a Weapon, and our wavelengths don't sync enough to do anything special. I can only swing him around a couple times before he gets too heavy."

Soul smiled. "A Meister, huh...?" He seemed lost in thought for a moment.

"Have you ever had a Meister, Soul?" She asked.

"Hm? Nah. I did go to Shibusen, but I wasn't there very long. I learned how to control my form and my soul wavelengths a little, but I never did find a partner who could even wield me before I moved. As for the question of what kind of Weapon I am..." He grinned down at her. "Why don't you meet me here after school and see for yourself?"

The two minute warning bell rang then, and Soul turned to leave for his class, waving lazily with one hand and tossing a grin at her over his shoulder before he turned the corner and was gone. He hadn't waited for her answer, but she was pretty sure he knew what it was.


	4. Mild Annoyance

This is exceedingly short. The plotbunny wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it.

* * *

She was trying to read.

He was being annoying.

This wasn't the first time this had happened honestly, and he usually did it on purpose.

Soul always had a habit of taking up the ENTIRE couch whenever he got to it first. He was at least nice enough to sink into the back of the couch enough for her to sit on it in front of him, usually in front of his stomach, to read while he either dozed off or watched TV. If he was in a particularly bored and daring mood, he'd poke her incessantly for no reason just to get a rise out of her. She still didn't know why he did that, as it usually earned him a Maka chop. He either had a horribly short memory, or a death wish. Or perhaps he was just a masochist.

Over time she'd learned to ignore him. Over time he'd found ways to be impossible to ignore. She had weak points. That one ticklish spot in her ribs, for example, Or that one spot on the back of her neck that made her whole scalp tingle when he poked it just right. Or he'd give up on poking her entirely and just tug at her hair, whether it was tied up or not.

Even so, whether she reacted or not, Soul would eventually give up, stretch, and fall asleep behind her as she leaned back on him. Or she'd force her weight on him to hold him down while she buried her book in his face. Both options ended with him slightly curled around her and asleep. If unconscious counted in that category.

Today she'd done an impressive job of ignoring him, despite the fact that her right pigtail was now almost completely out of its tie, he'd tugged at it so much, and she felt him stretching out behind her with a groan as his back audibly cracked. She leaned back on him once he relaxed and continued reading.

His hand brushed her side again.

Oh, God damn it. Did he not know when to stop? Fine. At least he wasn't poking her. She could ignore this much easier than his usual annoyances.

About half an hour later, it was getting harder to ignore. What the hell was he doing? Normally he'd be poking her side and neck, or jabbing at her ribs to get her to curl in on herself with a ticklish snort, but this... he'd never done this before. Instead of the usual, he was just softly, almost absently, running the backs of his fingers against her side. Enough to be noticeable, but not enough to be irritating. It was just... there, and despite her best efforts, she wasn't able to ignore it this time.

Sighing in irritation, she closed her book, moved to embed it in his face... and stopped.

He hadn't even noticed her move.

He wasn't asleep, his eyes were open, but he just had a dazed look on his face as he gently ran his fingers over her hip and waist, up to her ribs, and back down again, like he had been for the past forty minutes. He didn't seem to be looking at her, just staring off into space, until she watched for a while and noticed his eyes only loosely following the motion of his hand. She couldn't read his expression at all, which was new to her. She was normally able to tell what he was thinking even when he wore the blankest of stares, but she'd never seen this before, and she's torn between being intrigued and irritated, wondering somewhere in the back of her mind if he was doing this on purpose.

Eventually he notices her confused stare, and his eyes travel up to hers, still holding that strange look, and he simply smiles before stretching again with a wide yawn. She nods inwardly to herself. He's about to go to sleep. Everything is normal again.

Until he pulls her down with him, throws an arm over her waist and nuzzles deep into her hair before letting out a small sigh and falling asleep.

Maka blinks once, twice, and looks down at the deadweight arm around her waist. She goes to remove it, but he only tightens his grip and his arm digs under her, effectively pinning her against him. She's trapped until he decides to wake up. Sighing, she puts her book on the table in front of them and shifts her legs up onto the couch, trying to get comfortable. His legs immediately tangle with hers and her eyes snap wide open when she feels him kiss the nape of her neck before nuzzling his forehead against her hairline. For a moment she thinks he's fallen asleep again until his free hand reaches up and removes her hair ties before tossing them on the table next to her book.

He's been asleep for quite a while when Maka finally decides to give up. It's late, she's tired, and he's warm. Shifting carefully to not wake him up again, she gets comfortable before drifting off herself, barely registering his foot absently brushing hers as he shifts slightly in his sleep.


End file.
